The Hunter crept low in the parched scrub typical of the valley. There had been no rain for months before the start of the hunt, and all was dry and dying. He had yet to sight his quarry, even from a distance. The previous year's hunt had been a good one, and perhaps there were no dragons left. Looking toward the quickly darkening sky, the Hunter knew that this day's searching had nearly come to a close; that the rains nature had been holding back so long were soon to follow, and would follow with a fury he would not soon forget. Searching the steep walls of the valley for a cave in which to weather the storm, the Hunter found none. He would have to make due with a nothing more than a small depression in one of the walls, enough only to keep him from the fury of the storm, and perhaps to keep his bow and sword dry. He reached his shelter just as the first heavy rain drops begin to pelt the dry earth.
Shifting his weapons to his back, the Hunter sat in his place of refuge, facing the onslaught of nature and all her fury. He fingered the cord around his neck, on which a series of seventeen small triangular bone fragments were hung. His hand instinctively went to the fragment furthest to the right, around which the cord was double looped, signifying its importance. Twelve years before, after his fifteenth birthday, he had joined the hunt for the first time, following his father on the week-long trek. Just before the end of the week, when he was sure he would go home empty-handed, a single dark shape moving gracefully across the sky caught his attention. The Hunter slowly raised his bow to his eyes, and with well practiced precision, let loose the arrow. His aim was perfect, taking the monstrous beast directly in the heart, bringing the dragon crashing to the ground. When they finally reached the body, the dying dragon was circled by other hunters, keeping it at bay, but not taking the kill, for it was not theirs to take. The Hunter approached the body, and with a quick motion of the sword, dispatched the mighty beast, avoiding the look in the eyes, fearing the fury which must lie within. As the dragon turned for the last time, its form began to dissolve into the earth from which it came, leaving only the tiny bone fragment now double-knotted about his neck. In the Hunter's memory, his first kill was the largest dragon that he had ever seen, though he wonders how much of that is clouded by time. None of the other sixteen dragonbones are any smaller.
Looking out at the now torrential rain, from which he was only barely sheltered, the Hunter saw no more than a few yards beyond where he waited. Knowing that a dragon could walk just before him without him ever realizing, and that the sun was only just above the horizon, the Hunter leaned back in his shelter, resting for a short while before the full moon rose, leading his hunt into the night. The Hunter dreamt, as he always did during the hunt, of the fury in the eyes of his quarry, eyes he never had the courage to look into.
The Dragon watched the Hunter select his shelter in which to wait out the rain. He was unconcerned by the weather; his wings beat harder than the wind could push him; his eyes pierced through the rain. The Dragon watched the Hunter finger the spirits of his ancestors; watched the Hunter lean back to rest for the evening. The dragon also watched the rain soak into the cliff walls, weakening to the point of near collapse. The Dragon watched, and waited.
A slight trickle of water from just above his head briefly woke the hunter; the rain had found a path from the surface to an opening just above his head. Shifting slightly to avoid the small trickle of water, the hunter drifted back asleep, unconcerned.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the moon slowly rose, lighting the earth in its pale light. The rain continued, unabated, and the Dragon watched the water continue to soak the cliff walls, waiting for its collapse. The more he waited, though, the more impatient he grew. The Dragon flew to the top of the cliff wall and landed on the edge, where the cliff looked ready to break away. As he landed, he felt a subtle but distinct shifting below his claws; the wall was weakening, starting to give way. As he stood upon the wall, the shifting became more distinct, until it was certain that the wall was going to fall. The Dragon knew, deep in his heart, that it was his weight which had caused the wall to collapse, that he had killed the Hunter. This was a knowledge that the Dragon could not bear; he knew he could not murder even the Hunter. The Hunter would have to be faced eventually, in battle, not in murder.
The Hunter awoke suddenly, unable to see anything except the claws which held him in place and the chest of the Dragon. He was held tight; his sword, bow, and arrows were still in place, but he could not reach them. The rain had slowed during his rest; the light of the full moon was barely visible through the downpour. The Hunter knew he was flying, but had no idea of how high they were, or to where they were going.
Sensing him move, the Dragon shifted his head to face the Hunter, and spoke softly, in a voice completely out of place in such a beast. "I have saved your life." Banking slightly to the side, the Dragon continued, "You can perhaps not see it, but the shelter in which you slept is now covered in mud. I could not watch you die." The Hunter, prepared for an attack by the Dragon, was left momentarily speechless by the voice. That the beasts could think, much less speak, was new to him, and he was unsure what to make of it. At the time, though, the Hunter was more concerned with his own life than conversing with the Dragon, who was now staring ahead, into the driving rain.
The Hunter shifted continuously, constantly trying to grasp the sword on his back, knowing that it was his only hope of escape. He reached the sword just as the harness holding the scabbard and his bow broke loose, falling to the ground far below. Knowing that if the Dragon looked now at the Hunter holding the sword, he would surely be killed, the Hunter decided to take his chances with the fall, and lashed the sword out to the wing of the Dragon.
Howling with pain and strengthening his grip on the Hunter, the Dragon swung his head around again to face the Hunter, roaring words in a voice far more fitting the beast. "What have you done! I save you and you kill us both!" The Dragon, struggling to stay airborne, swung forward again, looking for a place to land safely. The Hunter never saw the impact coming through the rain, but when it came, the world spinning, all went black.
When he awoke, the Hunter was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the valley from where he had made his shelter. He sat upon a narrow isolated ledge, staring down at the mud which now covered his hiding place, unable to reconcile what he saw with his beliefs. Perhaps the Dragon had spoken truth; perhaps the Dragon was unable to watch him die and saved his life. The Dragon was also on the cliff, head angled back, licking the wound on his now useless wing, impervious to the Hunter. His sword was still at his side, the only weapon left at his disposal. As if sensing his thoughts, the Dragon looked back at the Hunter, speaking again in the soft voice as before, "Did you not believe me? I can speak none but the truth; had I not pulled you out from below the mud slide, you would have died. Would you now kill me, after what I have done?"
The Hunter, still unsure of himself, looked back to the Dragon, instinctively avoiding the eyes. "Dragon," he spoke, with a hatred he had learned from childhood, "perhaps you have saved me, or perhaps not. I have no reason to trust you."
"Had I wanted you killed, I could have dropped you at any time. Do you think me cruel enough to want to watch you die? You have hunted my kind for generations; you even wear the spirits of my friends and my ancestors around your neck, and you say that you have no reason to trust me? Have I not left your sword at your side?"
Grabbing his sword, trying to stand but unable because of his injury, the Hunter held the sword before the Dragon. "You have, and you would be best to remember it, Dragon."
Interrupting the Hunter, the Dragon again spoke, his voice still soft but now full of threat, "I would not have you address me that way."
"Are you not a dragon; can you deny that before me?"
"I am as I was as I will be: a dragon. But I will not have you disgrace my proud name by speaking it with such hatred. I have saved your life, and you will speak to me with honor, or not speak to me at all."
The Hunter turned back to face the mud-slide, silently, his entire view of the world collapsing around him. He was told stories as a child of the defending the town against the dragons' attacks. The hunters were heroes; all of the children wanted to be chosen, most never to know the honor. He was special: a third generation hunter. Most tried to talk their children out of becoming hunters and spoke of the work as if it drained their spirit away, until they felt no better than the beasts that they hunted. His father, too, had tried to set him on a different path, but destiny called out to him, and he could not avoid that destiny.
Looking to the sky, the Hunter realized that the best hunters, those with the most dragonbones around their necks, were often those who disliked the work the most. Fingering the dragonbones, the spirits as the Dragon had called them, he wondered if perhaps he wasn't beginning to understand why. The hunt was addictive; he could feel the need even now, as the dragon who had saved him looked on helpless, to take this dragon's life, to take this dragon's spirit away, and he knew that he should not. What the Hunter could not understand was why the Dragon had saved him. He had seen other hunters killed by dragons, and fingering a scar running the length of his chest, remembered that he had nearly been killed himself. If the dragons showed no hesitation to killing a man in battle, why should they not be able to watch a man get killed by his own stupidity?
The Dragon was still busy tending his broken wing when the Hunter looked over, asking the question weighting on his mind. "Why did you save me?" Keeping the hatred out of his voice, he continued, "I have seen dragons kill men, and you must know that we are killed in accidents, yet you make no attempt to stop this. Had you not wished to watch me die, you could have left and I would have never have known you were there. You chose to save me, at risk to your own life, and I must ask why?"
The Dragon looked briefly at the Hunter, then looked away, as if unsure what to answer. Very quietly, still looking away, the Dragon answered, "I could not kill you." Looking back to the Hunter, he continued, "I have watched you from above since you began this hunt, hoping for a chance to see you dead, knowing that to do so I would have to face you in battle. Even you, you who wear the spirit of my father about your neck," pointing a clawed talon at the double-tied bone at the end of the cord "even you I give honor to. I cannot dishonor even you, who has killed my people and my family. Take all you will from me, but I will not lose my honor." Looking away from the Hunter, the Dragon returns to his corner of the ledge, staring towards the sky, looking at nothing in particular.
The Hunter knew then that the Dragon meant him dead, and the fury he knew existed in all dragons certainly existed in this one as well. The Hunter knew then what he must do; he must do what his father did before him, and his father before him. The Hunter looked towards the Dragon, sorry for what he must do, but devoted deep in his heart to taking the life of the magnificent beast. The Hunter looked at his sword, for the first time understanding why the Dragon left it at his side; the Dragon would not kill him unarmed, but would kill him only in mortal combat. The Dragon did not leave him with his sword to let him defend himself; the Dragon left him with his sword to be killed, but with honor. He was to attack the Dragon, and be killed in the fight. The Hunter again looked at the Dragon, now longing for the dragonbone deep within his skull. Knowing now that the pull the dragonbones held for the hunters was the pull of the trapped dragon spirits didn't ease it. This was nothing more than another dragonbone to add to his collection, another spirit to be trapped, sitting just away from him. He knew that he must do what he came for, or neither would ever leave the ledge on which they sat.
Barely able to walk, the Hunter slowly made his way to the Dragon, sword in hand, posed for the attack he was sure awaited him. The Dragon continued to stare straight ahead, even as the Hunter reached his side. With precise, well-practiced moves, the Hunter raised his sword, bringing it down directly into the heart of the Dragon. Slowly, as if expecting the blow for some time, the Dragon locked eyes on the Hunter. For the first time in his life, the Hunter looked into the eyes of his victim, and the fury he so feared in those eyes was absent; the look in the Dragon's eyes was not neither angered or afraid, it was a look of pure pity. In his final words, eyes still locked on the Hunter, the Dragon spoke softly, "I am, as I was."